


Returning Response

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and Aramis visit the children. (Coda fic for 3x01)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning Response

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Aramis & Porthos go back to the monastery a few months later, so they can visit Aramis's kiddos."

It takes some time before Aramis can spare a day to ride out to Douai. Taking the familiar path, the air thick with pollen and the sun beating at the back of his neck are far different experiences than riding away from Douai, breath misting, heavy cloak around his shoulders – worrying about leaving the children behind, the brothers behind without an abbot, but also know that he had made the right decision. He’d arrived to Douai alone so many years ago and left with his true brothers. 

Now on the ride back to that monastery that was home for so many years, Porthos rides by his side. It’d been a tentative thing when Aramis asked him to come with him, almost afraid that Porthos would take it as an offense, as some kind of salt in the wound that’s still so quietly healing between them. But it’d been a sign of faith, too – a reassurance. Porthos, come with me. Let me prove to you that I’ll come back with you. 

If Porthos saw it that way, he’d given no indication when Aramis had asked him. Instead, he’d smiled and shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind seeing Marie again,” he admits, his voice going soft around her name. His smile turns lopsided, slightly self-conscious. “If she’d even remember me.” 

“Of course she would,” Aramis says, with feeling, “She loves you.” 

Loves Porthos based not just on the stories Aramis wove of him, but on knowing Porthos for herself – and who could know Porthos and not love him, Aramis has always wondered. But of course Marie would fall for Porthos based on the stories – they were, after all, Aramis’ stories of Porthos. And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many years passed at Douai, he could not strip his voice of the love he felt, crafting stories both fantastic and true for the children. It was never a surprise to him that the children should have fallen in love with the musketeers at war – emboldened by the stories Aramis told them. 

They reach the monastery around midday and as Aramis dismounts his horse, leaves the reins with the brothers, he spots the careful, eager faces peeking out from the doorways – and he feels himself grin. The younger ones come running and it’s a pang to see that some of them have already grown so much in the months he’s been gone. He opens his arms to them and they pile on against him with cries of his name. Luc lingers behind them, but he’s still grinning – and his hair has grown out, there’s the whisper of a beard straggling at his chin. His heart twists up seeing it, pleased and upset at once to see that passage of time, to see him growing and healthy. Adele, small smile too melancholy for a girl her age, follows after the younger ones and grins wider when she sees him – looks younger again with the bloom of that smile. 

Marie dislodges herself from Aramis’ bear hug he’s attempting to corral all the children into and instead totters over towards where Porthos is dismounting from his horse, lingering behind Aramis to let him have his reunion. He must seem smaller to Marie now, even if still towering above her – no longer wearing all that armor and instead his new uniform. Still, Aramis’ heart twists up and pangs watching the way Porthos’ face splits into a wide smile – only a touch of longing there, only noticeable because Aramis has worn that look before – as he kneels down and welcomes her hug. She flings her arms around his neck, holds tight, and squeezes.

“Hey,” he hears Porthos say. “You been good?” 

He watches Marie nod eagerly and hug Porthos tighter. He scoops her up, standing and holding her easily. His expression is gentle, far more gentle than Aramis has ever seen – even more so than the last time he was here, when his expression was gentle with her but tight with the realities of war all around them. Aramis forgets to breathe. Porthos, lighter and happier – smile soft. Marie, young and lovely and alive – and happy to see Porthos. 

“I’ve brought gifts!” Aramis announces, louder, and the smaller children forget to be humble in their eagerness to climb over each other and latch onto Aramis’ legs, pleading for the best tokens. 

Aramis laughs and wades his way towards his pack, fetching it before the brothers can whisk away his and Porthos’ horses. What he has are paltry things – his stipend, in the end, is still as minimal as he remembers – but it’ll seem a fortune to the children. Little tokens and trinkets that he disperses amongst them, and a new shawl for Adele, a razor for Luc (a suggestion from Porthos that Aramis is now glad he’d listened to, as giving Luc a child’s toy now seems foolish). He has some money for the brothers, a thank you for the time he’d spent among them and for housing them for the few days they’re here. Food and drink. New clothes. Marie reaches for her gifts while still nestled in Porthos’ arms, loathed to leave him. (Aramis cannot truly blame her for that.) 

Once the children have dispersed, a few hours later of Aramis regaling them with tales of Paris and being a musketeer again (Luc in particular clings to these stories), Aramis pours himself a cup of wine and hands one to Porthos. Marie has finally seen fit to unpeel herself from him in favor of comparing new spinning tops with Anthony, but Porthos watches them all as attentively as Aramis does. Together, they watch as the children of the monastery run across the courtyard, giggling and laughing, their sounds rattling off the walls. Aramis is glad that they can be laughing – that the death of the abbot, of everything that happened, doesn’t still weigh on them. But they always were resilient children. They always were strong. 

Aramis’ smile must have turned melancholy because Porthos bumps his shoulder, gentle. It jars him a little but not enough that any wine spills. When Aramis glances at him, Porthos is staring down at his wine, thumb circling the lip of his cup. 

“Regrets?” he prompts, his voice cautious. 

Aramis realizes what Porthos must be thinking. He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m where I need to be.” 

They’re silent. Porthos says nothing, just takes a long drink.

Aramis closes his eyes, lets himself be daring and lean closer towards Porthos, so that they are pressed side by side, from shoulder to hip. Porthos allows it, even leans back a little into his space so that they are undoubtedly and purposefully leaning against one another.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Aramis says. It is not a matter of fearing he would not have the strength to come back or even the strength to leave – but Porthos has always been a steadying, comforting force. And being able to come here with him when they are both at peace with each other is, of course, a gift Aramis will not shun. 

Porthos lets his arm fall back behind them, bracing his weight. It makes Aramis lurch to the side a bit, so he’s pressed more fully against Porthos. It is an innocent gesture to anyone looking, but Aramis lets his breath hitch and tilt his head to look up at Porthos, who is studying the children with a critical, watchful eye. 

Then his hand shifts and presses to the small of Aramis’ back. Before he lets it fall away again he says, “I’ve always got your back.” 

Aramis hums out, closes his eyes and lets the relief wash over him. “Yes,” he agrees. “I know.” 

And he does.


End file.
